


day one: tragedy

by orphan_account



Series: A Series of Tragedies and Blessings [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Marauders' Era, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 13:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11403384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "She knew that this war was not for children.No war was for children.And yet, children were fighting this war.But perhaps, they were not children anymore." -And perhaps, they were best left be.





	day one: tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, this is the beginning of a series of oneshots, written by Bonnie, and edited (some) by Michelle. I'm not entirely sure how many oneshots there will be, but the very least ten. Thank you for reading, and hope you'll stick around! These also have been posted on my tumblr (http://blackinnnon.co.vu/) if you want to check it out there as well. 
> 
> Happy reading,  
> Zigostia

Day I: Tragedy 

* * *

 

Allow me to tell a story. a story about a witch who lived through it all, and a witch that never gave up. 

Allow me to begin with a cat.

And a cold, windy, fresh November night. 

Allow me to begin with cat who spent her whole day waiting for news about a baby boy, and when news came, everyone was smiling for the first time in eleven years—so why did she want to cry?

Allow me to begin with a severe, strict teacher, but who was also fair, and caring—donned in emerald green robes and a tall witch hat nestled on her head. 

Allow me to tell a story about Minerva McGonagall. 

She was a teacher. A professor, to be precise. She learned, she taught, and she poured everything she possibly ever had into her work. She watched her first year students grow past her height. 

When Remus Lupin was passed out on a hospital bed, exhausted and scarred from a full moon the night before, she sat by him. Before there was a stag, dog, or rat, there was a cat, silently waiting outside the shack. When Sirius Black came back each September with scars on his ribs, a hollowed out soul, and empty eyes, she was there.

For she cared.

James Potter respected her like a second mother, and Peter Pettigrew looked up to her like he did his mother. 

She was there, as the children— _students_ —would grow up, and she would watch, as these children were thrust into a war of their own. 

She watched, as Sirius Black no longer ran around kissing girls, as Remus Lupin no longer had a hospital bed to stay after a night, as James Potter no longer laughed at Sirius’ jokes, as Peter Pettigrew lost the innocent gleam in his eyes.   

She fought side by side with James and Sirius as they played pranks, but this time, instead of targeting a mislead student, they were targeting the Dark Lord.

Remus and Peter still played lookout, but this time, it wasn’t a detention on the line, but their lives. 

_ Children, forced into a war that was not theirs, _ she desperately thought. 

She hoped to god that she was wrong. 

She watched, as Lily Evans no longer smiled, as Marlene Mckinnon no longer hugged her friends, and as Dorcas Meadowes grew harder, stronger than ever. 

Children were not supposed to fight a war.

She watched, as Mary MacDonald left one summer and never came back, as Emmeline Vance lost her sparkle, and as Alice Fortescue joined the aurors the day of graduation. 

She watched, as children shot bright green spells above her head, and as the victims never got up again. 

She stood as Lily Evans was yelling for help—and she ran for her—but Sirius got there before, and carried out James’ limp body from the fray. 

She knew that this war was not for children. 

No war was for children.

And yet, children were fighting this war. 

But perhaps, they were not children anymore.

She had cried, when Marlene McKinnon’s family was slaughtered, and she couldn’t get Sirius’ anguished sobs from her head. Children weren’t supposed to feel pain like this. no one was.

She buried her students, each one coming right after the other, and the guilt ate at her:  _ she _ should be the one in the casket— _ she  _ was older, and _ she  _ had less to lose. 

But fate was a devil, and life was painfully unfair. 

So when James’ and Lily’s funeral came, she could only be glad that there were two graves: Peter’s body was burned, Sirius was rotting in Azkaban, and Remus had lost his family. 

She had waited, that night, of November first, 1981. 

She had waited, as a boy with a small tuft of messy black hair and a lightning bolt scar had ended it all. 

But this time, she was wrong. 

This was a child’s war.

And, oh how she’d cried that night.


End file.
